


Raining More Than Ever

by wrong_century



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Character Study, Feelings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrong_century/pseuds/wrong_century
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben at headquarters, contemplating his role and responsibilities and how he never thought it would be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raining More Than Ever

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote fic inspired by an acoustic version of 'Umbrella' what of it?
> 
> Ben's family is half the 'Turn' version and half the historically accurate version, should make sense.

The sky is leaden. The clouds small, grey, and scudding quickly across the sky. The rain hasn’t stopped falling for three days. 

The ground around the buildings has become a muddy swamp and the boots of the ever-moving soldiers are sucked in deep and released with a reluctant wet drag. The rain is a constant beat on the roofs and pelt against the windows and walls. The entrance way shiny and slippy with water and dirt and gravel, marching footprints wearing their way into the wood before their time.

Caleb had disappeared two days ago and General Washington that morning, the blue wool of his cloak already saturated with water and clinging close to his shoulders, as he mounted his horse and galloped out of headquarters. 

The table behind him is piled high with papers and books and Sackett’s homework as it always seems to be now, never growing any less and the sense he can make of it coming slowly and with mounting frustration. Ben is standing in the doorway, back to the room and his mission, looking out at the rain as the sky darkens still further with the approaching night.

He doesn’t know where Caleb is, off on one of his information gathering missions that often involved a tavern or two but always involved nights spent sleeping in the woods, and usually ended in useful intelligence for the patriots’ war effort. 

Washington hadn’t told him where he was going either, but that was to be expected, Ben was not privy to his Excellency's thoughts. He had had his orders, and his promotion, and now he had to fulfill them and show he was worthy of the trust he had demanded from his General. Washington expected, and Ben was determined to deliver.

Headquarters gossip had it that Washington was off to reconnoiter the ground he meant to make a push for next, scout out the land he meant to march his troops over to the dismay of the British. Ben had found nothing in his collating of the various reports delivered to the camp to support this theory, but had no difficulty in believing it to be true. The men always seemed to know what was going to happen before their officers.

Two ensigns he knew by sight jogged past him through the rain, in search of warm food and a blazing fire after their time on watch. It was possible they would find the former and even the latter, but there was no getting dry in this weather. They waved and called out a cheerful enough “Sir!” in greeting and he acknowledged them with a nod. 

Their charge is complete for the day and they head for their well-earned rest. Ben can just remember that feeling, when he first joined the army and before he held his first command, without the ever-present worries of responsibility and leadership, happy for the day to end and share a drink with friends. Now he lies awake at night, after he drags himself from his work, eyes gritty and slow blinking with fatigue. He feels the weight of his task, the pages and pages of reports, the guilt of having pulled everyone he knows into it, pressing down on him in the dark, entering his dreams. He tosses and turns at night, greets the morning frowningly and can think of nothing to do but shrug back into his uniform, shoulder his burdens and take up his work once more. 

It’s raining over Setauket as well. Abe’s house has sprung a leak, but the rain has come too late for this year’s crop. Anna has to mop away the muddy boot prints from the floor of the tavern time and time again, all night long. His father, once the much admired Reverend Tallmadge, stumbles home through the rain, drunk and courting a fever if he continues in this way. Caleb has his hat pulled low over his brow and his arms crossed tight over his chest as he sits beneath a wide spread tree, attempting to ignore the cold trickle of a rain drop down his neck. And Ben is miles from any of them, trapped in this building by the rain and by his duty, and unable to take action. 

This night, his heart is at home. Remembering his childhood and the warmth of the house when his mother was alive and he and his brothers all still lived there, crowded together and happy. Of his father’s deep, calm voice, instructing them in wrong and right and the good that can be found in the world, and the bad. Now they are divided, some forever, fighting for what they believe in and what they’ve been taught. Ben wishes he could write to his father, tell him what has been entrusted to his son, or even just to tell him of his promotion at least, to be able to feel the warmth of his father’s pride. Or to explain to him what had happened, how he couldn’t save his men from Robert Rogers and his rangers, how he couldn’t stop General Scott from killing Newt even though he had promised. To gain relief from his father’s absolution. 

Comfort. Comfort is what he seeks on this wet, dark, cold night. What he would give to feel his mother’s hand on his cheek once more. To have the solid weight of his father’s hand clasp his shoulder. To be jostled on one side, and then the other by his brothers. Even the embrace of an unknown woman, all round edges, soft skin and warmth, her small hands bringing him comfort and a shining sheet of silky hair falling gently over her shoulders and onto his chest. 

He closes his eyes, derailing his thoughts, each a torment in their own way. He will never see his mother again. His brothers Samuel and Isaac are both dead. His father is far away in Setauket, and it’s likely they won’t meet again until the war ends, one way or another. And god only knows when he will get the chance to feel the sweet touch of a woman.

It is only the sudden cool of raindrops on his face that alerts him to the fact he has moved away from the doorway’s protection. He opens his eyes and takes a quick step backwards and inside, back to his duty. This is his choice, he made it long ago and will see it through until the end, whether that’s his end or the end of the fight.

As he turns to resume his work, a figure emerges through the still heavy rain. He blinks and squints out into the wet world, trying to make out the man returning to camp. The dark shadow is battling against the rain, cloak caught around him and held tight, hat low over his eyes. Only when he looks up does Ben recognize him, Caleb appearing at headquarters like an apparition, before anyone thought to look for him. 

Ben lets out a surprised laugh, taking a couple of steps out into the rain to grab hold of Caleb and pull him inside, disregarding his sodden state and pulling him into a tight embrace, good humor restored in a moment. Caleb is not his mother or father or even a woman in a tavern he is sure exists somewhere, but Caleb is his dear friend and self-appointed brother and his comrade in arms. Caleb stands by his side through this war and Ben takes comfort in that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of Ben Tallmadge thoughts and feelings and a historically accurate family tree at my disposal - things were written accompanied by rainy mood tracks....  
> It's 4th July, why can't Ben have nice things??


End file.
